First Blush
by liragreen
Summary: What if Bella wasn't the first? When he died in 1918, Edward lost the girl he'd planned to marry and left behind the life they'd shared for a new, cold future.
1. Chapter 1

What if Bella wasn't the first?

When he died in 1918, Edward left behind the girl he'd planned to marry. After he was changed, Edward was certain he'd never love again. But 100 years later, he meets Bella. With dark hair, a clumsy streak and a familiar sweet scent, she is remarkably similar to the girl he lost when he left behind his life for a new, cold future.

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: I read Twilight to see what the buzz was all about. Honestly, I wasn't very impressed with the writing, the character development, or how it ended. I found it unrealistic, and not just because it was a story about vampires and werewolves.<em>

_But for some reason, the characters stuck with me._

_And there were so many unanswered questions. Particularly: Why was Bella so appealing to Edward? Maybe it was just the way her character was written, but I found nothing appealing about her, and I couldn't see what it was that was supposed to have drawn him in. Other than her scent, she seemed to have nothing to offer._

_So I wondered, what if it wasn't really about her? What if she simply reminded him of the girl he'd loved and lost so long ago?_

_This is my imagining of that story, the one that happened 100 years before Twilight._

_For if forever is just the beginning, maybe the true beginning can shed some light on why there's a forever for Edward and Bella._

* * *

><p><strong>First Blush<strong>

When the Spanish Influenza hit Chicago in 1918, it hit hard. The hospitals filled first, then the morgues, and then the cemeteries. Mothers cried as their babies succumbed to the fever. Children were left to neighbors and far-away relatives when their parents didn't emerge from the sickness. Fathers, grandparents, brothers and sisters perished by the hundreds. People scattered to relatives' country properties—if they were lucky—or hid in their homes and waited for tell-tale signs of illness.

Few of us didn't feel the heat of the fever, and none of us were left with lives intact.

That's certainly my story.

**. . . . .**

At 17, I had the whole world at my feet. I had inherited from my mother my dark brown hair, ivory skin, pink lips and tiny stature that fortunately wasn't as frail as it appeared. Slightly clumsy and prone to biting my lip in nervous laughter, I was self-aware in a way that made people guess I was older than my years.

I'd known Edward since we were infants and had loved him longer than I could remember. We were born just days apart and our fathers were partners in a local law firm, so it was only natural when the sibling-like affection of our youth blossomed to romance.

**. . . . .**

Edward's father was one of the first victims of the invading flu when it reached Chicago. His secretary, Bess, a young and serious woman from a good family, sent word that her youngest brother was ill. Then, Bess and her parents succumbed. But she must have brought the illness to work with her, for Edward's father started showing signs of fever just days after Bess and her family. He died the day they were buried.

Edward was shocked by the sudden loss, and his mother, Elizabeth, was devastated. He stayed home with her for days, trying to dry her tears.

I wasn't as afraid as I should have been when Edward became sick. He was young and strong, and the doctor said his fever was low. If anyone stood a chance to pull out of the illness, it was Edward. And with our whole lives ahead of us, it was hard to imagine a future that was any different than what we'd planned. Still, I wasn't allowed to see him for fear of spreading the contagion. Instead, we settled for trading letters carried by couriers between the sick beds and the outside world.

His mother fell ill shortly after he did, but her fever burned hot and fast. She convinced the nurses to move her bed next to Edward's so that she could be with her only son; but as her fever increased, they moved her to a ward with the other, more desperately ill patients. Edward and I traded notes about her condition, and I mourned her as if I were losing my own mother. It never occurred to me that I should be just as worried about him.

For Edward would only outlast his doting mother by hours.

**. . . . .**

The town physician, Dr. Cullen, had a gentle demeanor and cared for each of his patients with a calm bedside manner. It was Dr. Cullen who rang the bell at my family's home late that night. I set down my needlepoint and stared at the door before opening it. I knew he could be bringing no news I wanted to hear.

"Elizabeth." My breath caught in my throat as I whispered her name, and I pressed my handkerchief to my lips. Tears threatened.

Dr. Cullen's liquid amber eyes held mine, and he closed them slowly and opened them again. He shook his head and reached for my arm. "Let's go inside," he pressed. He led me toward the sofa and motioned for me to sit.

My father stood and shook hands with Dr. Cullen, who turned and knelt in front of me. "Ella, I have some news. Elizabeth died this afternoon. But that's not what I'm here to tell you. It's Edward…" He looked to my father, who put his hand on my shoulder. My mother sank to the chair closest to the fireplace.

He didn't need to say anything more. I already knew. The gravity of the moment knocked the wind out of my lungs and pressed me to the sofa like a three-ton weight. I couldn't see. The room spun.

Dr. Cullen placed his hands on my upper arms, holding me to the present. He continued, "His symptoms worsened in the afternoon, and his fever spiked this evening. There was nothing we could do to stop the progression."

My future sucked into a vortex in front of me. Our wedding, our honeymoon, our future home with a white picket fence. Laughter and tears and the years we would never get to live together. I saw the faces of our children evaporate into nothingness. I watched the image of an elderly us sitting in rocking chairs on our porch crumble. The dreams of my youth—of our youth—snuffed out in a dark instant. Like my beloved Edward.

**. . . . .**

The next day, I put on my hat and walked through the eerily-quiet streets to the hospital. The nurse stationed at the front door wouldn't allow me inside. Instead, she told me to wait there while she found Dr. Cullen.

"Ella." His eyes were pained. "You shouldn't be here. Influenza is very contagious. You have to take care of yourself now. Too many have already been lost to take chances like this."

He stepped out of the door and guided me back toward the street.

"Let me see him." I choked the words past my gritted teeth.

He tightened his jaw. "You know that isn't possible, Ella. It's a risk we can't take."

I stepped forward, so close that my chin almost bumped his chest. I took a breath and squared my shoulders. "I didn't get a chance to say goodbye. You're the only one who can let me do that."

Dr. Cullen's eyes stayed shut for a long moment while he breathed in deeply. His cold hand rested against my shoulder. "No." His calm answer was firm and echoed in my ears. "You need to go home and rest. Your taking ill will only make this tragedy worse. Please, Ella." He gripped my shoulder tighter with my sharp intake of breath. "Please. I'll have no option but to send word for your father if you don't go home immediately. You need to take care of yourself."

Then he turned away from me, walked briskly back into the hospital and latched the door behind him. I saw him nod toward me as he gave the attending nurse directions. She looked through the glass and shook her head. My vision misted over as I pushed back toward the entrance of the hospital, tripping up the front stairs.

Edward was cold, but he was in there. I was desperate to see his face again. To seal it in my memory.

"Please, Dr. Cullen. I must see him! I cannot live without seeing him one last time." I clawed at the door, hysteria edging into my voice.

**. . . . .**

They buried his casket the next day in the family plot, beside the fresh graves of his father and mother. I watched the box sink into the ground and wished I would die, too.

**. . . . .**


	2. Chapter 2

The summer he died, Edward had two great, unfulfilled wishes. To serve in the war that had taken over Europe, and to make me his wife.

His mother wasn't so sure about either. He was her only child, and the idea of losing him—and his devoted love—to another woman was almost as frightening to her as losing him to battle.

The Great War raged on several fronts, and Edward couldn't get enough of the news. He poured over newspaper accounts of the battles, seeming to know the players and places as if he had already been there himself. I was frightened by the prospect of him going off to war, but it was the duty of young men of our generation; so I bravely listened as he plotted our future. First, a wedding to make me an honest bride. Then he'd enlist, serve and return home a triumphant husband.

After that, who knew? Perhaps following in his father's footsteps as a lawyer. Or using his prodigious musical talents to thrill audiences far and wide.

As a youngster, Edward had sat down at his aunt's piano and pecked out the melody of the tune playing on the phonograph. His mother, already convinced he was a genius, enrolled him in music lessons the next week. His talents grew, and by his early teens he was an accomplished pianist who was composing pieces and performing in recitals and events.

I loved nothing more than sitting in the Masens' parlor and listening to him play. Although he was talented beyond measure, Edward was often shy to debut new pieces for me. For my 16th birthday, the day he asked my father if he could officially court me, he wrote a lullaby for me. A soft, delicate piece that he said was how my walk would sound if it were set to music. If it were audible to others the way it was to him.

**. . . . .**

Edward had always been protective of me. Our fathers had met in college and opened a law firm together after graduation, and our families were as close as their friendship. Edward and I were both only children, and we'd grown up together; napping in the same crib as babies, playing together as toddlers, sitting in the same classrooms as children and learning our places in society as burgeoning adults.

And through it all, Edward's presence and protection was the one constant I never questioned. When the boys taunted, teased and pulled my hair, Edward was the one to chase them off. The time I'd fallen off of our horse miles from home and broken my arm, Edward was the one to ride to my rescue and carry me to Dr. Cullen's hospital. And when the first blush of love colored my cheeks, it was because of Edward.

What started as friendly, almost brotherly, gestures became romantic the spring before we turned 16. We both pretended no one else noticed the growing length of our glances or that the comfortable distance between us was ever-comfortably shrinking, but our mutual attraction was hard for others to ignore. And finally, we could no longer ignore it ourselves.

Our classmate Charlotte turned 16 just a few months before us. Her birthday party was a big event, with cake, a live band and a candle-lit garden dance.

It was the night Edward and I stole our first kiss.

I was dancing with Samuel Fisher when Edward cut in. I'd been watching his jealous glances as I danced with one of our friends after another, and was thrilled by the butterflies in my stomach when he finally tapped Samuel on the shoulder and asked to take his place.

His hand on my waist, my hand in his. The soft light. The smell of his neck. My heart thudded so loud I was sure he could hear it over the music.

He asked to walk me home, and I was so nervous I could only nod. He held my hand, but this time was different than the times he'd held it before. We stopped at the corner of my street, and he turned to face me. I was glad for the dim streetlight, sure that my blushing cheeks would give away anything my pounding heart didn't.

"Ella. You look perfect tonight." He smiled in the awkward silence and dipped his perfect face nervously toward mine. His green eyes sparkled. "Would it ruin everything if I kissed you?"

**. . . . .**


	3. Chapter 3

The day I turned 16, Edward came to my house with a big bouquet of flowers for me and a big question for my parents. He was dressed in a grey suit that set off his bronze hair. I listened breathlessly from the stairs as he set our future in motion.

"Mr. and Mrs. Lafayette, I ask your permission to court Ella with the intention to win her hand in marriage."

My father, his voice on edge with his effort to keep his joy under wraps, questioned Edward about his intentions for the near and far future. His timeline, his plans for education and work, where we would live, how his military service would affect our plans, how he would support me when he returned from the battlefield. Edward had a sure answer for every question, and I thrilled to think that he had thought out every detail of how he would be with me forever.

That night, he invited me to his home to share the news with his parents, and to present to me his birthday gift. The perfect melody that would play in my head all that night and for the rest of my life.

**. . . . .**

With my parents' approval officially won and a proper length of courting behind us, my mother called for me to come and greet Edward. I stepped into the room and he dropped to his knees. His hands shook slightly as he brought a black box from his pocket and opened it. Tears of joy clouded my vision as he slipped the ring on my finger, stood and embraced me.

**. . . . .**

The girls in town flamed with jealousy over my engagement ring. The shiny bauble was worth more than I was comfortable wearing—in monetary and sentimental terms. For it was the ring with which Edward's own father had proposed to Elizabeth.

Edward recounted for me how his father had pulled it from their safety box and presented it to him when Edward told him of his plans to propose. "We've always planned that one day we would give this to you, in hopes that you would find it beautiful enough to present to your future bride." It was an heirloom piece, shiny and well-loved, a large silver oval filled with dozens of diamonds. I remembered being captivated by its glittery presence on Elizabeth's hand at special events. I'd never imagined it would one day be mine.

It caught the light and distracted me, almost too beautiful to look at. It reminded me of Edward in that way.

**. . . . .**


	4. Chapter 4

The moon was full, and the fireflies looked like faeries congregating in the trees and grass. Edward's form loomed larger than life in the clearing. He stepped toward me, his soft hands gripped my left hand and the right side of my waist. His perfect lips hummed my song as he started to sway.

I put my arms around his neck and buried my face in his chest. My song reverberated through his body. His perfect scent, salty and clean filled my senses. My heart was full to breaking. I closed my eyes and let him rock me side-to-side gently.

This was my life, and it was beautiful.

**. . . . .**

Our favorite pastime was reading, and our favorite place to read was a meadow just outside of town. Our fathers' close association and our long-time friendship afforded us freedoms that most other courting couples weren't given, and we weren't shamed for spending time alone. We never even thought twice about it. On warm summer days, Edward would pick me up in his father's buggy and we'd drive out to the country, picnic basket and books in hand.

Edward's protection of my chasteness was sometimes frustrating, and I'd sigh for want of his full lips. But his self control was greater than mine, and he'd only succumb to my teasing with a few soft kisses before turning back to his books. I knew the fire burning in his eyes was for me, though, and it made me long all the more for our wedding day, after which we could put the proper conventions behind us and give in to the love and tenderness we felt for each other.

**. . . . .**

The county fair filled the air with too many scents of food and animals. The breeze smelled of hay and it seemed everyone was in love. I was woozy from the heat, motion and Edward's proximity.

"Ella—are you truly mine?" His cool hands slipped around my waist and he tipped his perfect face closer to mine.

I giggled, the blush in my cheeks deepening.

**. . . . .**

He picked me up early in the morning on a Sunday. He knocked on our front door, greeted both of my parents and then whisked me out the door and into his waiting carriage. The berries were ready, and a group of our friends were going picking.

The sun was warm and the breeze was cool. Berries stained my hands and my lips. Edward leaned in, closer, closer, closer. I felt his breath on my neck and turned my head to catch his eye. He laughed, tucked me in his arms and pulled me close. His face pressed into my hair and he took a deep breath. "Mmm. You smell like berries," he whispered.

My heart jumped and I turned to face him, dropping my basket and spilling berries around our feet. Our lips met and I tasted the sweet of his mouth made sweeter by the ripe berries. I groaned with delight and opened my eyes mid-kiss to meet his gaze.

**. . . . .**

My mother sighed and put down her book. "I'm not sure if that's a good idea. Especially on a week night. Who is going with you?" I rattled off names of our friends. "And Edward?" She raised an eyebrow. "Of course." My cheeks pinkened.

"Well, in that case… But come home as soon as it ends. I don't want you tired for school in the morning."

I threw pinned a hat to my hair and burst out into the cool air, my heart thumping. I could hear Edward's footfalls on the sidewalk, and I skipped down the steps to meet him. My toe caught on the bottom step, but his arms were there to steady me. "Not excited about this at all, are you?" He laughed, his green eyes merry and glittering in the waning light.

This was our first outing since the after-party kiss, and I was beyond nervous. Even though it was Edward, the same boy I'd seen practically every day since we were children, the stakes were higher now. No longer was he just Edward—not that he ever had been _just_ Edward—now he was the boy I liked. The boy that liked me, too. I smiled. I liked the sound of that.

The theatre was noisy. Every seat was full and most of the patrons were young, bubbling over with excitement, thrilled to be out from under supervision. Edward was on my left, my best girl friend Claire to my right. When the lights went dim, Edward's hand sneaked over the seat partition and his long fingers wrapped around mine. I blushed into the darkness and tried to keep my smile to myself. Claire elbowed me lightly, and I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. She grinned, nudged me again and turned her face to the front of the theatre.

Charlie Chaplin danced around the screen, music filled the room. All I could see and feel was Edward's closeness.

Claire had been badgering me for years about being Edward's girlfriend. When I'd told her we'd kissed, she was almost as excited as I was. Now, our semi-public display of affection was proof that she'd always been right about our feelings for each other. For once, I was glad she was right.

**. . . . .**


	5. Chapter 5

The Spanish Influenza hit Kansas with a vengeance, and stories of the rising number of dead splashed across the front page of the Chicago Tribune. My worried mother filled in the gaps with gossip she'd heard passed along at church and in the ever-emptier streets. It was moving north, and Chicago would not be spared.

When the first few cases of influenza popped up just south of the state line, people started to get nervous. My mother urged me to avoid large gatherings and stay indoors. When the first families in town were struck ill, she became paranoid, shutting all of the windows and making up excuses and odd sewing projects to keep me occupied inside. She begged me to add more pieces to my hope chest. But I knew where I'd vested all my best hopes. Not in a cedar chest half-filled with hand-embroidered linens, but at the altar with Edward Masen.

Edward and I had planned a late June wedding, set to happen just a few days after our 17th birthdays. But the surging illness prompted us to rethink the date, pushing it back to the end of September when we were told the danger would have come and gone. My heart sunk to think of adding another three months to our already too-long wait.

**. . . . .**

He pulled the apple off of the tree and presented it to me with both hands. "For my archetypal temptress," he raised one eyebrow. "But a bit in reverse."

I took the apple and bit into it. My eyes sparkled, reflecting his light. He threw his head back with a booming laugh, wrapped his arms around my waist and spun me in wide circles, my giggles echoing into the crisp fall afternoon.

**. . . . .**

The taps at my window was too insistent to be just a moth trying to get to my bedside lamp. I pulled my robe around my shoulders and squinted into the darkness. A beautiful, creamy-white face appeared in the shadows.

"Edward?" I threw open the window and whispered into the damp air.

"Ella! Come for a walk?" His sideways smile left me no choice.

It had been years since I'd climbed out of my bedroom window and into Edward's waiting company. But the adventure of it surged into my throat and I threw on the first thing I could find in my closet. Feeling like a giddy 13-year old again, I took a gulp of summer air and tested the nearest tree branch with my toe. I swung my other leg out of the window and shimmied to the trunk and out onto a lower branch. Edward grabbed my waist and slowed my drop to the ground. We snickered like children and ran hand-in-hand to the shadows to escape the glow of the nearby streetlight.

He held my hand and we walked close, our shoulders and hips brushing lightly as we moved along the dimly lit path of the city center park. "You should have been my wife two months from today," he pulled me closer.

"Edward, I can hardly wait that long. But to wait four months…" I stopped and sighed into the shadow of his face. "I feel as if I'll never be Mrs. Masen at this rate."

He wrapped his arms around me and drew me into his chest.

"Ella, there's nothing short of heaven and hell that could keep that from happening."

His soft lips pressed into mine and he pulled me closer. I reached up on tip-toe and covered his face in kisses. His hands slipped lower, mine pulled through his tangled hair. The oppressive humidity of the night grew thicker, and we sunk to the grass beneath a wide maple. Edward's lips traced a line along my jaw, his hands pulling at the combs in my hair. I gasped for breath and he pushed me gently back into the grass. His mouth covered mine hungrily. His scent, mixed with the slightest hint of sweat, surrounded me. He pulled in closer, moving over me and transferring his weight onto his forearms. Our bodies met in the middle. His hips pressed into mine, pushing me deeper into the dewy grass.

Then, as suddenly as it started, Edward stood up and pulled me gently to my feet. Propriety won out, as it always did.

In the morning, I smiled as I brushed small pieces of grass from my hair.

**. . . . .**

That afternoon, I learned that Edward's father had taken ill. My mother refused to let me visit him, and forbade me from letting Edward into our home or anywhere near me until the contagion had passed. I drew a heart on a small piece of paper, folded it, and asked our cook to drop it at the Masens' large brick home on her way to the market.

**. . . . .**

_My darling Ella,_

_How can the days pass so impossibly slow here? I watch the shadows on the wall and see the days come and go. Nothing else gives me more hope than knowing that the more days that pass and the faster they do, the closer we are to our wedding day._

_This was never from where I pictured enduring our engagement, and I fear that my illness will force us to push back the blessed day yet again. I long only to be a strong, healthy husband for you. After all, a wedding day would be sadly incomplete if the groom were too sickly to carry his bride across the threshold. It would be a sad omen to be sure._

_My sadness is doubled that I have not been able to search out and secure a home for us in which to start our life together._

_I endeavor every day to do what little I can to help myself get well. The food is bland, but I try to eat well to keep up my strength. Several of the nurses have been sensitive to our plight, and they bring me extra vitamins and compresses to aid in my healing so I can return to you soon. The fever lingers, but I feel stronger day by day._

_I have not seen Mother in three days now. They say she weakens by the hour, and I fear it will not be long. Dr. Cullen has been very kind in keeping me abreast of her wellbeing; but he can offer no words of encouragement, as he says it would promote hope that should not be given. It seems the two of them have struck up an unlikely friendship, and their mutual respect grows by the day. Dr. Cullen has told me Mother has made him promise to do whatever is in his power to save me from death. She has always been quite the dramatic._

_I miss you exceedingly, Ella. I cannot wait until I can see your face with my own eyes. To hold you close, to smell your sweet scent, to feel you in my arms and kiss your lips are my dearest wishes. Stay well and hold out hope for my quick recovery._

_Yours for eternity,  
>Edward<em>

**. . . . .**


	6. Chapter 6

I was never one to back down, especially when I was convinced of what I wanted. And I was convinced that I had to see Edward one last time. Dr. Cullen had his reasons for not letting me see Edward earlier that morning, but I had my reasons for wanting to see him. Needing to see him. See what remained, just the shell of the man I loved, but all that I had left of him.

I had to do this now, or he'd be buried the next day.

I looked furtively down the street. Left, then right. The sidewalks and street were empty. No lights were on in my neighbors' homes. I stepped out onto our front step, eased the door shut and tiptoed away, my bare toes padding along the walkway. I slipped into the shadows along the buildings and practically ran to the hospital. They'd set up a makeshift morgue in the back outbuilding to hold the bodies. The door was unlocked—who would dare go in except medical staff bringing new victims? I pulled a handkerchief over my mouth and nose, slid the door open a foot and slipped in, shutting it silently behind me.

Tables lined the walls and filled the center of the room with only small walkways in between. Sheet-covered mounds filled the tables. Sheet-covered mounds that used to be my friends and acquaintances. I steeled my resolve and lifted the corner of the first sheet. I had to find him.

But he wasn't there.

Elizabeth's small frame, on a table near the back, brought me to wracking sobs, and I pressed my cloth-covered face to her cheek. The cruelty of it all pressed down on me with unimaginable force. The faces of people I'd grown up with—classmates, neighbors, teachers, shopkeepers, people I'd passed in the street. All of them dear and now twisted in the grimace of death. But the face my heart begged to see one last time wasn't among them.

I choked back a sob and the handkerchief slipped away from my face. I didn't bother to push it back up as I charged back through the room and out of the door into the muggy night air.

**. . . . .**

I felt a cool hand brush against my cheek. _Dr. Cullen?_ My eyelashes fluttered and I fought to open my eyes. The heat, the burning, the pain in my chest. I lost the battle and quit the effort. Tried to breathe. More moments from my life flashed into my consciousness, and I wanted to succumb to them. It was so beautiful to remember.

But the hand, now icy with more pressure, paused on my forehead, bringing me back to reality. I felt a face close to mine. It seemed to radiate coolness onto my burning skin. I fought through the fever, choked in a hot breath and forced my eyes to open.

_Was there a heaven after all? _

Edward's face, somehow changed but still the same, loomed over me. But his eyes

**. . . . .**

The end


End file.
